Love in The Trenches
by Lynn Heartnet
Summary: After a rather long night of work, England falls asleep at a meeting. His boyfriend, America, is too concerned with his lack of sleep to wake him. England's dream slips into a memory of the first time America confessed his love. He just so happened to be riddled with bullet holes at the time...


After another all nighter spent filing paperwork and fending off text messages from the other countries about the royal baby, Arthur Kirkland was exhausted. Unlike his more easy going charges, Alfred and Matthew, he was never the kind that could ignore their alarm clock and hit the snooze until they felt like getting up so he dragged his sorry self out of bed at six in the morning just to be on time for the meeting.

It seemed at this point that the meetings were just becoming formalities, most wars had dissolved into tensions and though small incidents persisted there was nothing quite large enough to worry anyone greatly. Although America seemed to have his hands full in an all out insult war between North Korea and various Middle Eastern nations.

_That is nothing new. _England thought wryly. _Making enemies wherever he goes, that one._

Still, it was protocol, and never let it be said that the great English nation ever strayed from the rule book just because he only got an hour of sleep the night prior. So England showered, shaved, ate a light breakfast and then drove off to the meeting feeling immensely thankful that he was hosting today and that he wouldn't have to take a plane ride anywhere.

Walking into a world meeting room was a bit like walking into a high school classroom while the teacher was away. You had couples flirting in the background _(That French bastard)_, hooligans playing paper football or showing each other videos on their phone, on occasion there was even a fistfight (although that hadn't happened since the 1980's when Russia learned about the new American film Red Dawn)

England looked about for the aforementioned American nation and was not surprised to find him leaning back in his chair with his feet on the table. Normally England would expect the younger nation to be holding a video game or a comic book but it seemed he'd taken a real risk today in reading an actual novel. England glanced the title over: _IRobot_.

_Of course, most likely reading it because he was impressed by the movie. _

He took his seat next to America, who noticed his presence at once and dog-earred his book in a most horrendous fashion that left the Brit near speechless.

"You." America began. "Have a lot of explaining to do. Dude, you are not leaving this room until season 3 of _Sherlock_ comes out."

"I'm not responsible for anything that BBC does." England gave the age old reply, secretly satisfied that America had become so addicted to British television as of late.

"Whatever, I'm still considering holding you hostage." America gave a cocky grin.

"You have some explaining to do yourself. I have very incriminating photos from your brother that show you inhaling a "big mac" when I know you told me that you were abiding by my dietary guidelines." England replied, putting on an air of authority. America gave a loud groan and rolled his eyes.

"I trusted him! Note to self: take over Canada and make it North Montana." He threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "If I had known dating you would be such a hassle on my eating habits I would have thought twice!"

"Don't mind me, just saving you from dying of a heart attack, sod." England's words were twisted by a yawn and he began to remember just how tired he was.

"Yeah, yeah, you say that. You just think I'm getting fat. Which hurts. Deeply." America plastered on a kicked puppy look that he'd mastered at a very young age and continued to use against England today.

"Okay, listen up. It is time to begin the meeting." A thick German accent identified the usual bringer of order, Germany was there to save the day in the name of organization. England sighed and leaned back in his chair, hoping he could keep his eyes open. When he noticed America beginning to text under the desk he grabbed the younger nation's phone and dropped it casually to the floor. America simply looked up at England and mouthed: "I love it when you flirt"

"Does anyvone vish to begin?" Germany asked, and as usual a hundred hands went up, each one with its sob story ready to be told. England settled himself in his chair convincing himself that getting comfy did not mean he was going to fall asleep.

But of course, he did.

England was on the battlefield, all around him explosions pounded and sent shock waves through his chest and made it hard to hear anything except his own frantic breathing. Gunfire began peppering the ground before his feet and he dove for cover, wincing as bullets impacted against the ground where he'd just been standing.

The trenches, they were dreadful. Worse than the war that shook the ground above them was the wet trenches where men sat dying of frostbite and disease. The rats were huge, due to an abundance of dead for them to feast on.

England tried to appear dignified as waded more than marched through the trench, wishing there was something he could do to bolster his men's spirits.

"Sir, we have a wounded man over here you might want to see." The soldier that addressed him couldn't have been much older than nineteen. England sighed and nodded.

"Bring me to him."

Of course when England never imagined the wounded soldier was a nation.

The United States of America lay against a mound of dirt looking rather broken up and twisted despite the cocky smile on his face. When he saw England he pushed himself up a little higher, drew his shoulders up.

"Aren't you supposed to be flying an aerial mission right now?" England asked with confusion.

"Well in order to do that I'd need a plane, and I may have just lost mine." America chuckled, his voice raspy and dry.

"You lost it." England repeated in a monotone voice as if the statement itself begged for an explanation.

"Well by lost it I mean..." America made vague hand motions. "There were a lot of bullet holes in it...It sort of did that thing where it wasn't flying anymore. I'll need a new one. Too bad, I liked my plane. I called her Jessica."

It wasn't lost on England that America was going on and on, his voice becoming almost slurred as he spoke about things that almost didn't make sense. Suddenly the young nation coughed and scarlet drops of blood flew from his mouth to stain his chin and chest. He wiped at it, embarrassed by internal bleeding.

"What happened to you? Is this from the crash?" England knelt by America, it was only then that he saw the full extent of the damage. It made itself quite clear from the red stained uniform.

"Nah, the crash only did the rib cracking bit. The holes in my lungs bit was from the Kraut fire you've got going on here." America smiled that dazed smile that England saw on the faces of too many soldiers. "How lucky that I crashed right next to you, beautiful?" America shook his head. "Er, I mean...hang on did I just call you beautiful? Whoops. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's hard to think straight with your lungs full of metal." England replied just a little frantically as he signaled for a medic and then tore open America's uniform to check the damage.

"I love how you do that."

"Do what?"

"That thing with your accent where everything sounds so crisp and clean. Damn, I guess I got lazy. My words never sound crisp."

"Alfred, do try to focus."

"It's just another thing about you that's beautiful." America sighed, leaning his head against England's shoulder. "I can't believe I almost didn't come help you out. Don't let them say I'm just here because of _Lusitania._"

"Well now that's just hard to believe." England pursed his lips, his anger slipped out even when the younger nation was bleeding to death. Still, after begging him for his help and receiving barely anything in return it was only natural that he was a tad sore.

"No really." America was whispering against England's neck, and the British nation shuddered at the closeness. "Now that I'm here, am I helping? Am I impressive?"

England drew back and looked at America. He was still too young and gangly, his body had shot up before he had time to age with it so the affect made him look like a rather tall teenager. Which of course he was. Yet here he was trying so badly to be impressive like the older nations.

"It's not really about being impressive, love." England said softly, slipping back into a pet name he hadn't associated with Alfred for at least a hundred years.

"I love you too." America yawned, and that made England worry.

"Don't go to sleep, love. The medic is going to come look at you soon. I need you to stay awake and stop talking nonsense alright?" He asked, holding America's face in both hands. The American nation gave a sleepy non-reassuring nod, and for some reason that had England leaning their foreheads together out of a need to be close to the younger nation.

"So you love me do you?" He asked, putting fake cheer into the words. Maybe if he got the American joking again then it wouldn't be so scary having to look into those half dead eyes.

"I do." America's voice was serious. "I always have."

"Rubbish." England replied.

"No, England. Really." America leaned forward and brushed a light kiss against England's lips, before leaning back against the dirt wall of the trenches and letting his eyes flutter shut.

"No, love. You need to stay awake remember? Come on, love. Wake up!"

"Dude...Dude _wake up_!"

England's head jolted forward non-too gracefully from where it had been hanging back against the chair. To his left America was trying to look nondescript as he whispered around his hand and poked at England to wake him up.

"What...?"

"You've got five minutes of meeting left. I wanted to give you some time to wake up so that you don't look groggy when you leave. I think Germany might try to beat you with your own spine if he finds you slept through his incredibly interesting lecture." America smirked.

"You knew I was sleeping, and you let me continue sleeping through the entire meeting?" England hissed angrily.

"Yes. Believe it or not I am a big believer in doing onto others as they do to you. So your sudden interest in my health has made me suddenly interested in yours. Surprise! Sleep, like, keeps you alive, dude!"

England's brain was still foggy, but the scenes from his dream were rushing back along with all the emotions he had felt on that day so long ago. His hands started shaking, and when the end of the meeting finally came he was unable to focus on anything except the space on America's chest that had once held broken ribs and multiple bullet wounds. Riddled with injuries that only a nation could survive.

"Now that I've wasted a day on that, I think I'll go home and play some Arkham City. I totally kick ass at that game." America stood and stretched, and just as he did that he felt England collide with his midsection with great force. The Brit's arms wrapped around his waist and his face was pressed up against America's chest.

"Dude...you okay?" America blushed and looked down at his boyfriend, who upon hearing the concern drew back and straightened his shirt.

"I am quite alright, thank you." He said curtly. "It's only that I was dreaming of the day we got together."

"Ah." America smiled. "I just love starting my dates out with blood and gore. It makes me look so gung ho and heroic!"

"It made you look sickly and pale."

"You just don't know a real hero when you see one!" America argued.

"Most heroes can hold onto their planes." England countered.

"Nu uh, have you seen any movies lately? They gotta blow up like a bazillion planes before things get really heroic!"

England grabbed America by his tie and pulled him in for a kiss, the second spontaneous showing of affection in one day.

"Now." He said, ignoring America's whistle and catcalls of appreciation. "About that big mac you thought you could sneak..."


End file.
